


The Great Pussy-Eating Contest of '43

by warmommy



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Competition, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-09 21:18:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13489977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmommy/pseuds/warmommy
Summary: Exactly what it sounds like.Donny and Omar have been having it out over who's best at eating pussy and they proposition our beloved reader, team nurse, to be the judge. Then everyone else wants in to see who will be crowned King of the Basterds.





	1. Planting the Seeds

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find this and a lot more at my tumblr, warmommy.tumblr.com!

Of course, all of this began on such an auspicious occasion as when you were doing monthly lice checks. Nearby, Donny and Omar were arguing, as they were wont, and you had Stiglitz parked in a chair in front of you. He kept his hair so awfully short that you were fairly certain there was no chance that he HAD lice, but he always showed up, whereas the others bitched, another odd manifestation of the crush Wicki swore the man had on you. You could believe it, in a way. It was  _volunteering_  to be touched by another person, something that he hated, and he never talked, but he never complained, either, as the metal comb swept through his locks and your gloves pulled at his hair.

“Same as always, Stiglitz.” You patted his back. “You’re free to go.”

He turned to you, glowering. “Do you hear what they are saying?”

“Voices in your head?” You shook your head. “No, I do not.”

He frowned at your sort-of joke and jerked his chin in the direction of Omar and Donny, who were still hanging around nearby. “Those braying jackasses.”

“Oh. No, who cares? I once heard Omar tell Donny he has the chest of a pregnant dog.” You patted his back again, a little harder.

Still, he didn’t move. “I keep hearing them say your name and pussy over and over again.”

You groaned and shoved him in earnest this time. “I…Ugh, I don’t need to know about that.”

Looking like a sullen child, Stiglitz lifted himself from the chair and stalked off to go…elsewhere.

“Donny! You’re up.” You gestured for the man to stand and come to the chair. “Don’t be a pain in the ass, it’ll only take a few minutes.”

“I have thick, gorgeous hair, and it’ll take more than a few minutes,” the Bostonian said, shrugging off his jacket and scarf so that you could work more efficiently.

You scoffed, giving his hair a preliminary stroke to part and section it. “You are entirely too self-confident and involved in your own ego.”

“No, I am not! Damn it. This is what we need to talk to you about.”

Omar nodded, having stood in front of Donny.

You shook your head, taking up a clean comb. “No.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” Omar protested. “If I sit still and don’t complain, and neither does Donny, could you–”

“No. I can make this painful for you both, you know. More than that, I’m more than qualified to pull your livers out of your bodies and make you eat them. You would be eating Donny’s, of course, and vice versa.” You pushed Donny’s neck. “Come on, you just make this so difficult.”

“Listen, Y/N, we’ve been talking. You’re the only one that can help us, and if we don’t get some resolution here, we’re gonna kill each other. I almost stabbed Omar not five minutes ago.”

You sighed. “I realise that you both have a terribly worrisome preoccupation with each other, but I can’t see how this could possibly be my problem. Turn your head, please.”

“No, Y/N, seriously.” Omar took a few steps closer. “You’re our friend, right?”

“Abso _lutely_  not,” you chortled.

“Y/N,  _please_!” Donny hit the armrests. “Just hear us out, okay? This is something important, it matters.”

Rolling your eyes at the skies above, you sighed. “What do you want, then?”

Omar placed his hand on your shoulder. “We’ve been fighting for three weeks over who’s better at eating pussy–”

“ _Get out_.”

“But we’re outside–”

“Out, out,  _both of you_!” You took up Donny’s scarf and used it as a whip of sorts, lashing at those goddamn animals.

“Just hear us out, listen, we have legitimate reasons to bring this issue to you,” Omar pleaded.

“Really, and you’ll be  _proud_  of us,” Donny said.

You crossed your arms, jaw tightly clenched. “Thirty seconds. Go.”

“So, about the whole pussy-eating thing–we really need a judge, and we thought it was only  _responsible_  to ask you!” Omar said.

“Yeah, yeah, because we know that you’re clean and you would be impartial because you hate both of us. We’ve been trying to figure out a way to settle this that doesn’t involve hookers.”

“Right. Because I’m a step above a hooker. Eat shit and die, both of you.” You let the scarf drop to the dirt and the leaves and began to drag the chair away.


	2. Setting the Terms and Conditions

It was a week later in a shitty tavern and you’d overheard Donny and Omar fighting it out again while ordering. You sighed heavily, ordered another double, and went to the dim, dingy little booth where they were snarling at each other. You sat down beside Omar, carefully shielding your drinks, and they immediately stopped, turning to you. Omar moved down the bench to make more room for you.

“So about this contest,” you started off. “What, realistically, are you hoping to do, and to gain, with and from this experience?”

“We trust your judgement,” Donny said quickly.

“We just want–no, need–to know who’s better, and we can’t prove that with a prostitute–”

“And you ain’t  _nothing_  like a prostitute–”

“You’re just a healthy, clean, nice-looking woman who we happen to know, you hate both of us, so we know you’re not gonna play favourites,” Omar said. “We can even do it with you blindfolded so that you have no idea which one of us–”

“No, no blindfolds,” you said quite forcefully.

“So you’ll do it?” Donny asked, with all the hope and joy and wonder of a child on Christmas day in his eyes and voice.

“I think before I give a yes or no, although it’s probably no, there should be some stringent ground rules set in play.” You took a cigarette out of Donny’s pack and had Omar light it. Hm. Floated them a soft no and still getting special treatment. “First of all, this is only known by these three people–myself, Omar, Donny. If anyone else were to have knowledge of this–should it even occur–what I will do to you, both of you, will affect you for the rest of your wretched little lives. I’m talking physically and mentally. I will smash you dicks and your fragile, pathetic brains.”

“Damn, Y/N!” Omar exclaimed. “We’re not sex criminals–”

“Just perverts, yes, agreed. So now that that’s been established–”

“ _Am_  I allowed to finger you?” Donny asked.

Omar’s eyes brightened and he nodded. “That is an  _excellent_  question.”

You rolled your eyes. “You can do  _normal_  sex stuff to me, including digital penetration, but if I see any dicks, I’ll rip them off and shove them down your throats.”

“What’s normal sex stuff?” Omar asked.

“I mean just my pussy!” you shouted.

Suddenly, Stiglitz slid in next to Donny. “What are you horrible, disgusting perverts trying to do to our nurse?”

“Out!” You pointed away from yourself. “There’s nothing here for you–”

“I think there is. You’re having a pussy-eating contest, no one is allowed to go near your ass.” Stiglitz downed the rest of his drink and shoved his glass down on the table. “I’m not letting them do it to you if I can’t.”

“Holy  _shit_.” You followed suit with the drinking and signaled for another. “Okay, I have made many mistakes in my life–”

“What’s so wrong with me that you wouldn’t let me throw my hat in?” Stiglitz asked in his most affronted voice.

Donny chuckled. “Honestly?”

Stiglitz leaned closer to him with a menacing grin, but you smacked his hand, hard, gaining their attention once more.

“There is no pussy-eating contest, absolutely not. This is the dumbest thing I have ever even entertained–”

“Stiglitz, you’ve fucked it all up!” Omar shouted.

“Fucked up what?” Wicki asked, crouching at the end of the table.

You pulled a cocktail napkin over your face and willed them all dead. You waited several moments, and, when it didn’t happen, you sighed heavily. “You know what? Wicki’s the only one that gets to eat my pussy.”

“I get to do  _what_?” Wicki laughed nervously.

“Why only Wicki and why are we talking about your pussy, Y/N?” asked your precious Utivich, leaning over the back of the booth.

You pursed your lips, looking up at him. “You, too.”

“Me too, what?” Smithson asked.

“I don’t know why, but we’re gonna eat her pussy,” Wicki said.

“Oh!” Smithson exclaimed, sounding just like somebody’s grandma. “Um, not that I’m declining, but…why?”

Wicki nodded to you, adding himself to that inquiry.

“For the love of–will you fuckin’ mooks fuck off?” Donny made a sweeping gesture with his arms, and tried to ram Stiglitz out of the booth. “We’re trying to actually work something out here, and you’re fucking it up!”

“I have spoken,” you said, pressing your fingers together and nodding. “Wicki and Utivich, you each are hereby bestowed one ‘Free Eating Y/N’s Pussy’ card, you may redeem it at any point on this weekend pass, then they become invalid. I’m going, I’m leaving.”

Stiglitz pulled out his knife and pointed it at Wicki. “Look at me. Look at me, Y/N. He is my best friend. I will stab him through the throat before I’ll let him eat your pussy over me.”

“What the  _shit_?” Wicki roared, standing.

You sighed, certain that all of you would soon be forcefully removed from the tavern. The German-speakers were shouting at each other now, Smithson was still quietly asking what was happening over and over again, and Omar and Donny kept trying to get rid of them all.

“I thought I heard you dick nuts kickin’ up a storm,” Aldo loudly announced himself. He approached, hands on his hips, and started to glare down at all of you, and you were sure a comet was about to strike. Something was going to happen so that you would all be vaporised. Nothing this awful could actually happen in real life without the Hand of God coming down like a hammer, could it?

“I am  _not_  idly sitting by while Wilhelm gets to go down on her and I can’t!” Hugo yelled, plunging his knife into the table.

Aldo tilted his head at you. “Would you care to tell me what in the shit this kid is goin’ on about?”

You could only stare blankly at your CO. Your voice was slow and quiet. “Well, see, there was this…pussy-eating contest…But I told them that Wicki and Smitty were the only ones allowed to compete, and they all started to yell at each other.”

“I wasn’t yelling, sir,” Smithson said.

“Yeah, yeah, we know, Little Miss Muffet,” Aldo dismissed. He crossed his arms and regarded you again. “What are the terms and conditions of entering this competition, Y/N?”

“Oh, my God.”

“Here’s how we’ll do it,” Aldo said, shoving you so that he could be seated. “We got three days where we haven’t got a thing to do, and we have, what, Donovan, Smitty, Wicki, Hugo, me, and Omar? Two competitors a day to keep the judge from getting overstimulated–”

“Excuse me, excuse me,” you shouted. “This is  _my_  vulva we’re talking about!”

“Aw, hell, Y/N, it’s all good fun.” Aldo shrugged. “If you don’t wanna, don’t. When’s the last time you got laid?”

With a deep breath, you downed another double whiskey. “Why the fuck not?”

“I’m serious now,” Aldo said.

“Yeah, me too. Don’t do anything you don’t want,” Wicki said.

Hugo nodded. “I will literally emasculate anyone that touches you without your consent.”

“It ain’t just about us, you know.” Donny shrugged. “We care about you. Good times. You and me, we’ll tell this story to our grandkids.”

“Don’t make me change my mind again,” you said.

“You’re in?” Omar asked.

“Who goes first?”

“We’re definitely not to go anywhere near your ass?”

“What about tits? Those are in play, aren’t they?”

Smithson patted your shoulder. “It’s okay, Y/N. You can always say no.”

“I will literally emasculate–”

“WE KNOW.”

“Shut the fuck up, dog tits.”


	3. Round One: Donny Donowitz vs Omar Ulmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donny steps up to the plate.

It was decided, mostly by you, that it was only fair if those two knuckle-draggers that started it all took night one. One of your terms was that the rest of them pay for you to stay in a much nicer hotel for the duration of the weekend, and you were in a modern, gleaming clean bathroom with a glass of wine, soaking your regrets away in the tub. 

It was decided that the winner would be known as King of the Basterds, and that, regardless, you would henceforth be called Queen of the Basterds. Not that you weren’t already their queen. Each man was allowed his own strategy, carefully guarded from one another, to try and bring you as much pleasure as possible. They were not, however, allowed to go for multiple orgasms. 

Nobody had time for that.

Of course, you had gotten full examination of everyone’s lips, mouths, and tongues before you gave the final sign off.

Hugo called your room three times already, wanting to change the order in which he would appear.

Someone knocked on the door, your first for the night, and you sloshed out of the tub, finishing the wine on your way. Donny smiled, but pushed you inside and closed the door quickly.

“Hey, you’re wet and naked, don’t leave the door wide open!” 

You shrugged. “Why not? Since we’re treating my body like a goddamn free-for-all.” 

“Hey, hey, no we are not.” Donny plucked you up and set you down on the bed. “No one’s lyin’, you know. You ain’t just a body. You may not think all that much of me, but I think of you like a friend. I never got the chance to tell you that I thought it was all, you know, something fun we could do together. Really.”

“I’m a little drunk, I’m fine by it.” You smiled, indicating the wine glass you’d left on the table. 

“You  _sure_  you wanna?” Donny’s hand covered yours. “I know you said a lot of stuff about regrets. I don’t wanna be a regret. I never wanted you to feel bad, or nothin’.”

“Shut the fuck up, dog tits.” You laughed and leaned forward against his shoulder. “Just don’t treat me different.”

“Nah, you’re still the scary lady,” he said softly. He smiled. “Can I lay you down?”

You nodded and let him, and a moment of panic struck you:  **What if they were all fucking _awful?_**

_“_ Just lay back and relax,” Donny said soothingly, rubbing his hand along your side. That was sweet, really, a side probably no one ever really saw of this guy. He lay his head down on your upper thigh and just trailed his fingers up and down, never staying in one place for very long.

You smiled up at the ceiling. Actually, this seemed rather fun, now that you were there.

Donny kissed your hipbone, then, and, upon hearing your sharp intake, moved to the other, pressing his lips against it. He nuzzled his way down, ghosting his lips over your sensitive skin, and, by God, this was the best decision ever.

Donny’s thumbs gently parted the way and he leaned in, all warm tongue and lips–maybe you should have masturbated before, he  _was_  the first in a  _while_ –and he groaned softly when his tongue flicked upward.

Was he really going to be the crowning champion? Was Donny goddamn Donowitz going to earn the right to rule beside you–

_Ooh_.  _Fingers_. Blessed, thick, long, beautiful fingers, and you were moving. Where his tongue and lips were slow-going, his fingers were curling more quickly, and for the first time you actually started to believe it was true, how experienced Donowitz was with women, because he for damn sure knew exactly where to touch and where to press.

“My sweet God, I’m glad you said yes,” he muttered, his words just a hoarse exhalation that felt  _so good_  on your definitively aroused skin. 

“Yeah?” Shit, why were you responding to that?

You could feel the shape of his grin as it grew against your clit; you gasped loudly. 

“How many times in my life you think I’ve ever gotten to be with a girl like  _you_?”

His tongue danced, it curled, it twirled, all the while his fingers were working a ‘come hither’ motion inside of you that made you curse loudly. He was kissing you, and it was hell on your heart–not emotionally, but physically, the damn thing was rushing, pumping all the damn blood in your body downward, making you feel heavenly. 

Still, with all the stimulation and rushing bloodflow, the orgasm didn’t  _hit_  you, Donny was  _pulling_ it from you. You were crying out nonsense mixed with syllables of his name and suddenly he was behind you, and you were relaxed and snug in very warm, strong arms. You panted yourself down from it, reached for his hand. He was happy, you were happy, and there wasn’t a damn thing wrong about that.

“So, when do I get that crown?” he asked softly against your neck. 

You laughed and nudged him with your elbow. “Out, then. I’ll see you tomorrow–and you’d better act like your usual, horrible self.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Donny squeezed your hand. “Do I get a kiss goodbye?”

“You think I’ve never tasted my own puss before? C’mere.” You kissed him a few times, actually, but nudged him again and he left with a little grin and a slow wave of his fingers.

The door closed.

Fuck.


	4. Round One: Donny Donowitz vs Omar Ulmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omar Ulmer

After a long shower, you pulled a notebook out of your bag–the one you kept track of vitals with, and made a few notes about Donny’s, well, performance. It felt wrong to think of it in such crude terms, but these were crude details. You’d already worked out a kind of scoring system for three categories, which followed the question of “orgasm: yes or no?”. How the hell were you to choose a winner between six men if you didn’t have a system in place?

Somehow, someway, Stiglitz was going to find this. It was uncanny. He could get into places like a fucking phantom, and, whatever it was he wanted to find out, he always had a way.

The others were probably either too dumb or wouldn’t dare to breach the sanctity of your pack.

Someone knocked at the door, and you glanced at the clock. It was a full ten minutes before Omar was supposed to show up. There were rules, damn it.

“Ul–” You stopped yourself short, coming face to face with Donny. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He looked at you intently for a second, then braced his hands on each side of your face and kissed you quite insane. Your eyes closed and you stumbled back, but he caught you. You gasped against his mouth and turned away.

“Don’t do Omar’s job for him,” you cautioned breathlessly.

Donny’s hands filled the curves of your waist perfectly, and, from behind you, he squeezed. “Y/N.”

“Donny, seriously, if you turn me on, you’re just helping someone else get to the prize–Omar, for that matter.”

“So I’m turning you on?”

You closed your hands over his and tried pushing them away. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“As soon as I left here, I fuckin’ RAN back to my hotel, barely got into my room without whipping it out.”

“Jesus Christ!” You were blushing now, honest to God blushing, and very happy that he didn’t see. “Uh, there’s not much I can do about that, Donny. Take a cold shower.”

“Y/N.” He squeezed you again, and you could feel it everywhere. “Gimme a shot when all this is over with.”

“Do what now?”

“Think it over,” he whispered in your ear, and, just as abruptly as he arrived, he was gone, leaving you staring down at the hands that had just been touching him. On so many levels, for so many reasons, he should not have done that.

With a smoke and another glass of wine, you were able to cool yourself off, though, before Omar arrived. He walked in with his usual cheeriness, came to sit beside you at the glass table, shared a cigarette with you.

You smirked at him. “This a part of your strategy, Ulmer?”

“Nope. When am I not friendly?” He laughed and took a sip off your glass. “You know you don’t really hate me.”

“No, not really.” You touched his arm, leaned across the narrow table. “You aren’t going to ask me about him?”

“Nooo,” Omar laughed again. “I don’t need to know what he did. It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh no?”

Omar shook his head. “I’m not worried. Poor Smitty, though, boy. You got that kid worked up in a frenzy. He’s terrified.”

“Aww!” You touched your chest. “I hadn’t really meant to drag him into it. I was just talking out my ass to bug you two.”

“Okay, well, listen, I swear I’m not saying this to put him down or anything, but Smitty’s not–he’s quiet and shy, right?”

Your ears went red and your eyes went wide. “Is he a virgin?”

“No! No, me and Donny got him hookers galore when we got to France. He’s just always followed our advice about not going down on prozzies.”

“Oh, I feel so bad.” You hid your head under your arms and had to laugh at yourself. “Okay, okay. I’ll deal with that when it happens. Oh, I love that guy so much.”

“Don’t let him know you know, please,” Omar said earnestly.

“No, I won’t.” You sighed deeply. “Shall we?”

“It’s not a business transaction! We’re not going to a meeting, Y/N, relax. Here.” He got up and walked around to your chair, working on the tense muscles that seemed to form a solid block between your neck and shoulders. Ordinarily, you would have bitten his hand off at the wrist, but you felt kind of ‘fuck it’. “Goddamn. I know the life’s not easy out there, but you feel like Atlas.”

“I feel that way a lot, too.” You closed your eyes. “I’m always worried about you all. I’m terrified that, God forbid, the worst should happen, and it’ll be all my fault because I couldn’t save one of you.”

Omar was quiet for a beat. “I understand why you feel that way, because I feel the same. If any of us goes down, I’ll wear that on my back as my fault, my blame. You can see the irrationality for both of us, can’t you?”

Honestly, you could, and it was so freeing that your eyes began to well up. “Yeah, I can see it. I’ll take care of you.”

“I’ll take care of you, too.” His fingertips moved over your scalp now, and he might just win on this alone. You groaned softly and leaned into the touch. “Are you all going to lose all respect for me now?”

“Fuck no. And if one does, the rest of us will kick his shitty ideas out of him, like we do with Hirschberg.” Omar kissed softly behind your ear. “Come with me, Y/N. All of this is supposed to be good, feel good. Let’s go feel good.”

You went to follow him, but stopped moving when he got on his back and motioned for you. “What are you doing? No way am I putting my mouth or hands or ear on your dick.”

Omar chuckled lightly. “No, no, come on, I want you to sit on my face.”

“You want what? I’m a far cry form virginal, but that’s a new one,” you said uncertainly.

He lifted his head. “Well, it doesn’t have to go that way. If you want to give it a shot, we can, or, if you don’t, we don’t. I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured.”

“You didn’t,” you said quickly. “Can you tell me what to do?”

“Oh, you don’t actually do anything but use your quads. That’s it. The rest is just me eating your pussy into goddamn oblivion.”

He always did understand how to give you a few laughs. With ease, now, you got beside him on the bed, stripped off the robe you’d been given, and smiled at how his grins and bubbly mood sank beneath heavy arousal.

“Goddamn,” you heard him whisper. You caught your eye. “Can I touch you? Just normal places, I won’t go for your ass.”

“Yeah, sure.” You took one of his hands and placed it on your chest; Omar’s pupils dilated. “Do you ever think about me, Ulmer?”

His eyelids fluttered. “Y/N, please come over here. I  _gotta_.”

With the careful guidance of his hands, you were positioned above Omar and blushing a dark red, you knew. He directed you on what he’d do if he needed more air, but it was still concerning. Wouldn’t you be too much, be too heavy?

“I can eat your pussy just as good the other way around, Y/N.”

“No way, I’m curious now.” You looked down at his large, dark eyes, which you’d always found beautiful, and smiled, pulling hair from your face. “Okay. Ready?”

Omar gave a thumbs up and pulled you down, his hands on your waist just the way Donny’s were earlier. Gasping, you had to force that mental image out, because Donny had had his shot.

Omar made no bones about how much this was turning him on from jump, either. While you were adjusting to the feel and the position, he’d already started twisting the tip of his tongue around your clit. He was moaning loudly, muffled by your body, and became even louder still when you began to move.

Not once had you ever thought of Omar Ulmer, beauty and cutie though he may be, in a sexual context, but here was this cycle of desire that fed into itself, and every time you looked down into his hooded eyes, another jolt shivered through your body, like ice and lightning. He spoke to you, said thrilling and devious things whenever you leaned your body away so that he could breathe.

“Would you believe if I said that you’re doing perfect up there?” he asked, reaching shamelessly to cup your chest in his hand. That alone looked almost too much for him. He bit his lip, sharply. “Let me taste your pussy again, Y/N.”

Involuntarily, you moaned, moving forth as his hands and voice beckoned.

“Do you like this?” he asked, gripping your hands now.

You could not form the right words, or any words, to respond.

With a subtle laugh that made your knees jump, Omar put his tongue back to work against your smooth, warm skin. How was it possible that his tongue felt so much hotter?

Two more times and you were flying, grinding your hips and screaming Omar’s name to the empty late night hotel. He gripped your hips hard when you tried to flee, still running his tongue quick and greedily up and down. You giggled softly and he let you go. The two of you tumbled into each other’s arms, and, with more of the same laughter, you used the quilt to wipe off Omar’s face.

“ _That’s_  why you’re Queen of the Basterds,” he panted, seemingly quite pleased and comforted in being held back.

“And also why you might just be King of the Basterds,” you added. “Might.”


	5. Round Two: Hugo Stiglitz vs Wilhelm Wicki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugo Stiglitz

You let out a very unmanly–wait, why were you worried about being unmanly??–shriek when you heard a loud thud out on the balcony. You slipped back into your robe, just having finished your notes, after Omar’s departure, and went to see what the hell was going on, but there was Stiglitz. You breathed of firm relief and went to unlock the doors and let him in. You looked up, then around.

“How the fuck did you do that?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I can get in anywhere. How do you think I killed all those Gestapo sons of bitches?”

Now you blinked at him. “Okay, not comforting at all, but moving on, why are you here?”

Bitterly, he clambered into a chair and crossed his arms over his stomach. “Why is it not comforting to know that I would do anything to come and take care of you?”

“Why are you here?”

“Because you left your phone off the hook and I couldn’t call to check and see if you were okay!” he yelled, his accent becoming more thick.

Sneering, you walked straight up to him and smacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t you yell at me, you Hun bastard, I’m not afraid of you.”

“The object isn’t to make you feel afraid, the object is to make you feel taken care of! What did I do wrong?” Those words sounded strangled out of him, and gave you immediate pause. You’d planned on being asleep by now, but the nervous, obviously wound up German before you needed…well, you didn’t know yet.

“I’m going to call up another bottle of wine. Which do you hate least?”

“Red,” he said quietly. He even went to the door for you, shielding you from view of the bellboy that brought it up. While he poured two glasses, you regarded him closely.

“Okay,” you said. “Listen to me, Hugo, I have something I need you to do for me.”

He looked up with interest.

“I need for you to stop  _doing_  things and to just  _tell_  me what is going on, what you want, et cetera, all of that. Now, I realise that that isn’t going to be easy for you to do, but…it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. The sky won’t turn into an ocean, the sun won’t swallow the earth.”

“Just let me take care of you,” he blurted. “It’s all that I want, and there’s nothing wrong with that, is there, so just let me do it.”

“What I’m asking for is clarity,” you said patiently, hands folded on the table. “What’s the worst that could happen? I say no, reject your advances, which you haven’t even made?”

“Ja.” He nodded. “That is the worst that could happen.”

“But how am I supposed to know what it is you want me to say ‘yes’ to?”

Hugo shook his head now, picking at the tablecloth absently. “You aren’t meant to.”

“You know, we’re alike in that we’re both people of limited patience,” you began. “I don’t want you to talk in circles around me, I want for you to talk  _to_  me, Hugo, talk  _to_  me, because we are both rational adults with varying degrees of success in controlling our impulses. I’ll start. I’m very confused, Hugo. I don’t know what you want from me, I don’t know what you get out of this, I don’t know how to feel, I don’t know what to think. I don’t know very much about you, at all, as a matter of fact, and if you want something  _more_  with me, I kind of need to understand  _all_  of those things that I just mentioned. I don’t think you’re a bad guy. I think that you’re frightfully intelligent, attractive, even funny, sometimes, and, to an extent, I guess, I really do appreciate that you care enough about me to, to, I don’t know, magic jump your way up to my balcony.”

His eyes flicked up towards yours, but he kept his head down. “Thank you.”

You waited, but nothing more came. “Goddamn it.”

“I only came here to make sure that you were not crying.”

“Why…?”

He shrugged, tsking at you. “What if you were emotionally devastated by regret? I could not simply let you possibly…be alone, crying, feeling sad.”

As he spoke, you gasped inwardly and your eyes widened. Without thinking, you reached for his hand. “Hey, that’s probably…or maybe  _actually_  the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for me or said to me. Just out of curiosity, what would you have done if that were the case?”

Hugo’s throat bobbed. You detected a softer quality to his voice, almost implacable. “I would tell you that you are okay. I would simply make everything okay, for you, by whatever means necessary to do so.”

“And now that you’re here, and you can see that I’m not crying or devastated, now what?”

“If you tell me to leave, then I’ll leave.”

With a long, drawn-out sigh, you plucked up your glass of wine. “If you were any of the others, I’d say you were here for sabotage or to get information about them or to try and bolster your chances of winning the crown, but I think you actually do not care about that. At all.”

Hugo shook his head. “I don’t. I’m sorry I fought with Wilhelm. I was…jealous. We have laughed it off amongst ourselves.”

“You’re lucky to have a friend that laughs it off when you threaten his life over pussy.”

He frowned again. “Not over pussy. Over you.”

“For Christ’s sake, Hugo, you’re a human being.”

He looked at you then with something almost like fright, and it pinched awfully at your core. “Thank you.”

Even more bewildered, you set your elbows on the table and leaned over them. “Did you just thank me for calling you a person?”

“I don’t know,” he said quickly, his chair falling over with how he stood.

“Don’t,” you said, and he paused halfway to the door. “Hugo, I…This is probably going to make you angry, or, shit, I don’t even know, I can’t tell with you, but you  _are_  a person. A good one. I’m really, really lucky to have somebody looking out for me like you have, weird though your methods may be…Shit, they get results, don’t they?”

Although his back was turned to you, you could see every muscle was drawn and tense.

“Look, you don’t have to say shit if you don’t want to. I’d just, is there  _anything_  you can do, say, that’ll help me understand a little better?”

“Understand what?”

“Um…anything, at this point. If I pissed you off, I’m sorry. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I would do anything you asked.”

“Okay, so…maybe be a little nicer to yourself? Maybe?” You took a few VERY cautious steps closer to where he stood.

“I’m fine how I am.”

“No…I don’t think that you are. You make me want to crawl into bed with you and eat cookies.”

“That’s…unusual.”

Finally, you placed a gentle hand at the centre of his back. “You wanna crawl into bed anyway? For my sake?”

“There aren’t any cookies, Y/N.”

You scoffed. “Shows how much  _you_  know.”

You pushed him, just as he always let you do, you realised, towards the bed, thankful that the maids were willing to come and change the sheets as they always had.

“Are you  _naked_?”

“Your face is gonna be in my puss sometime in the next twenty-four hours. Don’t worry about it,” you laughed. Mechanically, he sat down at the very edge of the bed, and, still smiling at him, you perched in his lap. “Just say 'fuck it’, Stiglitz. Just relax.”

“I like it more when you call me Hugo.”

“Just say 'fuck it,’ Hugo. Just relax.” You hooked your arm around his shoulders and leaned back against him. “I’m learning a lot about how great you guys really are.”

He spoke quietly, solemnly. “I hope no one winds up disappointing you. After it ends.”

You swallowed, your hand tightening on his shoulder. “Hugo?”

Your voice cracked on the upward inflection.

“Ja, Y/N?”

For some reason, it was you that was folding. You breathed uneasily, very discreetly using the cuff of your robe to dab at your eye. “You, uh, you don’t care a thing about being jealous or not riding off into the sunset with me, do you? You don’t want…” You inhaled sharply. “You don’t want me to get my feelings hurt, if one of these guys manages to reel me in, but doesn’t actually want anything more, right?”

“Ja,” he said softly, adding a short nod.

You lost control for just one second and let out a loud, gut-deep sob. You tensed up completely and started to shake your head. “Sorry. Sorry.”

Both of his arms closed very carefully around you from behind, and you managed to turn your teary eyes towards his neck. You willed yourself back under control, taking slow, deep breaths against his skin. You sniffled. “Why? Why don’t you care?”

“What about?”

“Getting what you want.”

“What do I want?”

“I don’t know. You won’t tell me.”

“I did,” Hugo corrected you. “I told you that all I want is to take care of you, like I’m doing right now. I don’t need anything else.”

“That’s not true,” you shook him gently. “Everyone needs something. You’re allowed to need something.”

“No,  _that_  isn’t true.”

“Hugo!” Shit, how did a man who’d never done anything more than show up obediently for monthly lice checks break your fucking heart?

“Don’t you believe that you can be enough?” he asked, just as quietly as before.

“Yes, I can be enough, but I have a lot to  _give_.”

“I…I’m fine. I like where I am.”

With a determined chin, you turned around in his lap and rested a hand on each of his shoulders. “I wouldn’t be. If I cared about someone the way you do me, I would be scathing with jealousy and hurt that they were having an oral sex contest. It would kill me that my best friend was going to be involved. If I cared that much about somebody that I’d, fuck, climb a building or whatever you did just to make sure that they weren’t crying, I don’t know what would ever satisfy me. Stop selling yourself short, because there’s a lot more to life than hiding out in crumbling barns to escape the wind and scrounge around orchards for fruit and chase away the nightmares of a person that’s never even really been all that good to you.”

“You are so,” he argued. “I don’t have lice.”

You laughed so hard that you nearly fell backward, and he had to pull you to him again. He started to chuckle a bit, as well, finally holding you against himself rather than aloft, out in open space. You nudged your nose with his, still breathing out soft bursts of elation, then kissed him softly. Much to your delight, he didn’t move away, but pulled you further in, escalating from a passing brush of lips to something  _deep_.

Knees on either side of him, you groaned and pushed him down into the bed. He smiled up at you and it was the most gorgeous goddamn thing you’d ever seen, and you were pulling on the sash of your robe and shoving the damn thing off of yourself so quickly just to kiss him again.

Fuck the rules, fuck the competition, fuck Donny, fuck Omar and his ridiculously dextrous tongue, fuck everyone.

It was ridiculous, how beautiful you felt with Hugo Stiglitz gazing up at you. He relaxed enough for his head to hit the white, fluffy comforter, and a warm, genuinely happy, not leering, sort of smile pulled at his lips.

“You are…” Hugo’s hands, much bigger than your own, meshed with your fingers. “Better than my own imagination, I can at least say that.”

You blushed. “Thank you. It’s been a good day for me and my ego. Let’s get down to yours.”

You reached for the buttons of his shirt, but his whole countenance changed  _quick_ , and you felt a light panic, a jolt that made your hands jump away. “Oh, wow, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–”

Just as easy as anything, Hugo gripped you tight and laid you down. His mouth covered yours again, and, although you weren’t quite sure what was happening, at least he didn’t seem…terrified? The opposite, actually. His body felt so big and hard and solid above your own, but he was being careful to only lay his weight on stronger places of your own.

On the softer places, he moved his hands, working their way down your chest, your belly, your hips, your ass, your thighs, and it was almost without finesse at all, but that was what made it  _electric_. When he held your hips underneath him, it was  _rough_ , but reverent, you were making every insistent sound you could possible utter against his mouth. Hugo moved to bite your neck and you moaned, hard.

“For the love of all that is good and holy in this entire goddamn world,” you panted, your own hands frantically moving up and down his back. “Take off your pants and  _fuck me_.”

“I have a better idea,” he said, his fingers curling into the slick flesh between your legs, making your hips jump. He smiled against your cheek. “I’m supposed to compete next, anyway.”

You groaned, your head tipping back. “God, fucking yes. You do whatever you have to, you goddamn pussy wizard.”

He laughed a few times, kissed you once more, and his knees hit the floor.

You had one leg stretched casually behind his back before his tongue even touched you. It was so light, so slow and drawn out, you could feel your heel pressing down against his spine. You could hear yourself, the noisy, breathless exhalations, and felt far less ashamed than you would, normally. Fuck it. How was it possible for a person this far removed from any normal human relationships so intuitive with vaginas?

Oh, but he  _was_ , and your heart was  _really_  pounding, now. It was so late in the night now that you bit the edge of your fist to keep quiet, but Hugo knocked it away.

“Don’t you dare!” he complained, tracing the shape of you with his fingertip. “I want to hear everything.”

If it was the only thing this man had ever asked of you, you did not want to refuse him at all.

He sure was taking his precious fucking time, though, and that’s when you realised he was loving this, too. Every roll of your hips, every curse from your lips, you could feel, without feeling, his excitement grow. Causing you pleasure was killing the man.

This just so happened to become the night where German quit sounding like threats and started to sound  _so_  erotic; You had no idea what he was saying, but he was speaking in a low voice, moaning softly against your skin, and you prayed you would remember to ask him–later.

God, he even knew how quickly it was coming, and, right when it did, pushed his fingers inside, just to give your walls something to squeeze around. Accidentally, you kicked him, shrieking a hoarse curse and slamming your fist against a pillow. He didn’t seem to mind.


	6. Round Two: Hugo Stiglitz vs Wilhelm Wicki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilhelm Wicki

"You are supposed to be eating breakfast!" Hugo complained. He'd decided to take a shower before leaving and was glaring at you now, hands on his hips, as if a stare-down could take you away from a cigarette and lukewarm wine left over from the night before.

You smiled at him, smoke pouring through your nostrils. "What are you so nervous about? Sit down, you got enough food for a family of six."

"You don't eat enough, you never do!" he insisted. "You've hardly eaten a thing since yesterday. There's been a lot of demand placed on you, physically. If you don't sleep and eat enough, you'll be too tired. You won't enjoy anything else."

You blinked bewilderedly. "Hugo, the contest is off."

He frowned. Deeply. His thumbs snapped and he paced between the table and bed. "Why? Why would you say that?"

"Because. . .I don't want to? Because I'd rather spend the weekend shacked up with you?"

"No."

Your shoulders shrank and you turned very carefully so that he couldn't see you. "Oh. Okay. Well."

Hadn't he been the one scared the others were going to hurt your feelings? Confused, you reached for the wine and stuffed half a croissant in your mouth. No one could cry while eating a croissant.

"I already called Wilhelm, but I have to go and speak with him in person. You eat. He'll be here soon. Eat." Hugo left the room quickly.

What the  _fuck_? It  _was_  possible to cry while eating grapes, you found, but also found a way to force yourself to stop. Before, like, twelve hours ago, you didn't know what to think about the guy at all, and maybe it was all part of the game for him, anyway.

It was  _supposed_  to be fun, but now you were crying intermittently as you chewed on bacon, some really damn good eggs, and nibbled on toast. It really was a good breakfast.

What had he meant about calling Wicki? And needing to talk to him in person?

Shit, did Wicki not want you either?

The only thing that kept you from getting up and calling Donny--who, upon reflection, you knew damn well only wanted sex, although just having someone want you would feel a lot better than what you were feeling at the moment--was the tug of sadness that kept you rooted to your seat at the table.

After your third mimosa, you felt just as you had when you sorted out this whole contest to begin with--chill towards all the men involved, and  _that_  was better.  _That_  felt good. Ish.

You heard a lot of loud footsteps and voices in the hall when you were finishing an orange and the juice got in your eye. You cursed like an Aldo and didn't even realise that the sounds were getting closer until two German-born Basterds came through the door.

"Hugo, get off, fuck off!" Wicki was trapped underneath his best friend, and the door was still wide open, and your eye burned like a thousand fucking suns.

"Ich werde nicht zulassen, dass du ihre Gefühle verletzt!" Hugo grunted.

"Hello, come right in!" You sneered at them both, slamming the door shut. "Anybody want to explain to me what the fuck is going on?"

Wicki threw Hugo off of himself and tried to stand, but Hugo got him by the calves and pulled him back down. "You stupid fuckin'--I told you to get off me!"

"Warum solltest du etwas so immens Grausames tun?"

The Austrian sunk his elbow into Hugo's ribs. "Es ist nicht grausam, nett zu seinem besten Freund zu sein, you fucking idiot!"

You tossed down the handkerchief you'd used to dab your eye and tried pulling the men apart yourself. Hugo quit fighting altogether when he realised that you were down there with them.

"Both of you, bed, now!" you shouted.

Wicki looked at Hugo as they sat. "Du bist mein bester Freund. Ich werde dir nicht wehtun. Das werde ich dir nicht antun. Sie ist für dich. Das ist in Ordnung. Sie kann dich lieben. Sie kann es. Ich werde dir nicht wehtun."

"Das ist der Ort, an dem du sein sollst, was du tun sollst!" Hugo yelled. He pointed at you. "Es ist ihre Entscheidung, nicht meine, und sie hat dich gewählt!"

"No, she didn't! All right, Y/N, listen," Wicki held his hand up towards you, a hand-talker. "I wasn't just fine with screwing over my best friend with this whole deal, but yeah, I wanted to. I knew something was up when he never showed up last night, though. He called me this morning and said he was with you. You should've heard how happy he was. I was really fuckin' happy for him. Then he starts in about how important it is that you aren't disappointed--"

"Argh, you stupid Austrian!" Hugo hit him on the shoulder.

"Shut the fuck up, I'm trying to help! Anyway, Y/N, I figured that something had happened between you, and that just made my mind up, I told him I can't do it, I don't want to come between you, I can't fuckin' eat the pussy of a woman that my best friend loves, I'm just not that kind of guy--"

You snapped your fingers at the German. "No. Hitting. Wicki, keep talking."

"You understand, don't you?" Wicki tucked his elbows in, something you figured he did throughout his life to hide his awkward height. His eyes were sad on yours. "I have to think about him. He won't. He's convinced that this is what'll make you happiest. Nobody else looks out for him. If I don't, if I do this, I'm betraying him, no matter how he justifies it to himself. Don't ya see?"

"I told him before he left that I wanted to call off the whole thing and spend the entire weekend just with him," you said incredulously, waving your arms.

Wicki turned to Hugo again, scoffing and shrugging his own incredulity. "What the fuck does she have to do? Climb on top of you and try to take your clothes off?"

You were reeling. " _I did! I did just that_!"

"What's wrong?" Wicki asked the other man, who was completely turned in on himself, now. He glanced at you, flicking his eyes at the other side of Hugo, so you sat down on his other side. Tense though he was, he grew even more so. "Stiglitz, das ist es, was du schon lange willst. Tu nicht so, als würde es nicht passieren. Ich werde gehen, damit ihr zusammen sein könnt."

"Wilhelm, hör auf damit. Du bist besser. Weißt du, wie es war? Größer als alles andere." Hugo looked at you now. "Y/N, he is the best man you know. I'm not doing anything wrong. I want this to happen for you and for him. He stays, I'm going to go. Both of you should listen to me. I know you well. You want her, have her. Don't say that you are hurting me. It makes me happy to see you both happy. Stay."

He left, just as he said he would, without any more words or even a look. Wicki made to stand, but you held his hand so that he would remain where he was.

Wicki sighed. "What do we do about him?"

"I don't know. I'm confused."

"Confusion has been my constant state since I met him."

You slide closer and hung your head on the older man's shoulder. "Do you wanna know why I said you were the only one that gets to eat my pussy?"

"To antagonise him?"

"Not just him. Donny, Omar, Hugo, they were speaking so presumptively, but I think he was just trying to help me, looking back. In his own way. But you came in, and I saw  you, and you're always so friendly and nice, I just said it. I know this is all a category ten shit storm, but I just wanted to, to tell you that it wasn't just because you happened to be the next guy to show up, I don't just invite. . .you know, whoever, to get in between my legs."

Wicki scoffed, his arm coming around your middle. "I know. Everyone's really fucking excited because it's  _Y/N,_  you know? Nobody else really gives a shit about Hugo, so they don't notice, they don't care. Did you hear what he said, by the way? Oh, no, you didn't, it was in German. He said, basically, it was the best thing that ever happened to him. And you want him?"

"I. . .yeah, yeah, I have--last night was fucking intense, and I wanted him to fuck me, and then I discovered he didn't want to, because he freaked out when I tried to undress him--"

"Oh, man. No, I promise you he did. He didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Well, then he ate my pussy like some sort of pussy-eating god sent to me from beyond the stars, I fell asleep, I woke up at like three and the morning and he was still awake, taking  _watch_ , for God's sake, so I made him get into bed, woke up again and he was yelling at the bellboy that brought up breakfast."

"That's pure, unfiltered Hugo love." Wicki laughed and nudged you carefully. "And the whole thing this morning, last night, I guarantee you it was, uh, he has all these. . .big, awful scars."

"Uh. . .no shit. I'm the nurse, I'm the damn field medic, I've seen him mostly naked at various times. . ." You shrugged. "He knows I'm a professional."

"Yes, that he does," Wicki nodded. " _But_  he can only handle it in a professional capacity. He trusts you as a nurse, thinks you'll be disgusted by it as a. . .what? I'm not good at. . ." He cleared his throat.

You felt all the air escape your lungs and a familiar tightening around your stomach. "Jesus fucking Christ, Will, what do we do? He's pushed us together like two dolls saying 'Now you fuck! Now you fuck!' and I just. . ." You curled around him like a boa constrictor and felt his fingers drumming against your arm. "I didn't know it, but he's the most precious goddamn creature that ever lived or ever will."

"I should go and get him," Wicki said. "I'll lie, I'll tell him that you  _hated_  it, I'll tell him that you're crying and you need him--"

"Jesus, Will! He'll come at you with that knife again!"

He shrugged. "What else can we do? Everything plays into how shitty and hostile he thinks everyone and everything is."

You shook your head. "He won't believe it. Somehow, he'll know. He just  _knows_  things."

"Yeah, I know that." Wicki lay back against the bed, moving you with care, and sighed. "Well, fuck me running."

"Will? Do you want me to fuck you?"

"No shit. I'm just a good guy."

"Yeah." You nodded, but really? This was comfortable. Wicki was the least objectionable in your initial iteration of this event, and he felt warm and. . .Christ, why the hell not? "Hey."

"Hm?" Wicki turned to you and you traced your fingers along his stubbly jaw and kissed him. He hummed a sound of pained conflict, but you could already feel the tilt of his body towards yours, and, when he leaned over you, you could hear the scream of 'fuck it' coming from his mind.

When was the last time you'd worn anything more than this bathrobe?

"Hold on," he whispered, planting kisses firmly against your lips. He looked at you with a full smile in his eyes and slowly sat up. "Don't move. Seriously. I want you just like you are right now." He opened the door and leaned out. "Hey! Fuck off, you're getting your way!"

You covered your mouth with your hands, laughing into them, but there was Wicki again, coming right for you. "How did you know?"

Wicki pulled you towards him, lying on his side. "Don't worry about him. Shit, it's what he wanted. I'm a good guy, but not as good as I thought, I guess."

"You're good," you whispered, caught up in his fucking smile yet again. "Thanks."

"Oh, don't thank me yet. You're about to experience why my wife left me."

"My God!" You felt shitty for laughing, but there you were. "Part of your charm, I'm assuming?"

"Part of Judaism itself, actually, self-deprecation is a major part of our entire culture. What it does is lower your expectations so that I can't possibly disappoint you any more than that." Wicki laughed and casually reached inside your robe and brushed his fingers against your ribs.

"No, I don't think that you will." You kissed him again, all smiles. It was like a Sunday morning at home, if there was a soul in the world waiting for you back in the States. Lazy hands, lazy lips, these grins that became difficult and shaky because the energy was transforming in this room, in this bed.

"Can I. . .take this off of you?" Wicki pulled at the robe, but hardly, only enough to disturb the fabric so that you understood.

"Do you think I'll ever just be the nurse again?" You were a pro at peeling off that robe, by now, but you nodded to his hands.

He was too focused, though, or his response was otherwise lost. The way his eyes traveled as though reading print on your skin made you feel muddled and deeply anticipatory. Donny's gaze was full of lust, Omar had looked at you like a somewhat terrifying rollercoaster, Hugo. . .well, you'd just felt so beautiful under his eyes. Under Wicki's, you grew small and uncertain, until he sat up partway and his fingers followed the curve of your thigh.

In the past twenty-four hours, you'd seen different men, men you knew and cared about, look at you with lust, excitement, and appreciation.

With Wicki, staring back at him, you saw how his lips parted and his tongue shifted behind his teeth, the way that his eyes narrowed right as his pupils grew so wide, the dark green irises were just rings. When his hands finally rested on your bare skin, he yanked his wrists back and muttered an apology in German, one of the only phrases you could recognise, but then eagerly he looked down at your waist and thighs and traced their profile with his hands. The cuff of his sweater was stiff, rough, and brought chills to your flesh. Wicki's eyes followed his hands, and, when they rested on your knees, different syllables began on his lips, but never formed.

"Is it. . ." Your knees pressed together. "Okay?"

" _Was_?" It took him several blinks and a few shakes of his head to bring himself to English again. "What? What're you asking me, Y/N?"

His voice. . .it was always deep, always with an edge of sort of vocal fry, but there was a new rawness and absence that had never been in your jocular conversations.

He looked you straight in the eye, now, through lashes thick and curly. "Are you asking me if your body is okay?"

You pressed your lips together and nodded, seemingly robbed of your own vocal chords.

"Pip. . ." It was such a sweet throwback, one that tingled beneath your skin. It was the first thing he'd ever called you, back in the first days before your outer shell was formed. A long time before Hugo. Wicki looked confused again, and pulled his hands away from you. "Pip, you know what I am, don't you?"

"I-I don't know what you mean." You cleared your throat.

He gave a sort of quiet laugh, then dragged his hands through his hair and looked up as if he were seeing blue skies and drifting clouds. "I'm not really anything. I wasn't much of a husband, I guess, obviously not a very good friend, I'm good at killing Nazis, but--I don't know if this is what you. . .you know what? Fuck it. I'm not going to sit here, looking at  _you_ , and try to convince you not to do this. Call me selfish. Come here. Now."

"You know what you are?" You helped him get rid of the sweater and shirt he wore underneath and ran your hands down his chest and stomach while you were kissed like a thunderstorm, disquieting, but deeply comforting. Wicki pulled you over onto him by your upper arms, and your hands covered his perpetual five o'clock shadow.

"You fucking smell like gardenias," Wicki groaned.

"Will. . ." You smiled, eyes closed, and only barely restrained yourself from reaching down and touching the hard rise between his legs. You wanted to beg him, right then, just in that moment, to fuck you, like you'd been refused before. You were jumping at every little touch, all of your nerves given to his ministrations.

You wanted to know what he sounded like when he was battling the physical urge to fuck you harder, but somehow knew so well that his words would be humble and deferential. You wanted to hear how he battled with himself, how his breath would rasp and rumble in his chest and he whispered to you of heat and gardenias and how his favourite parts of you felt wrapped around him. As if on cue, his hands were digging into the meat of your thighs again. You groaned, and he pushed you down.

He didn't get on the floor, though, rather, he pushed you further up on the bed and got in between your bent knees like he was much more patient than his touch and eyes implied. Belied. Which was the right word?

Thoughts of which words to use, which ones mattered and which did not, evaporated when his chin pressed against your pubic bone, and down he went. 

He was patient in a way that you were not, that no one had ever been with you, before. His tongue moved in an enchantingly slow, gentle pattern, which made you want, very badly, to simultaneously kick back and enjoy every good thing crawling its way up your thighs and also scream desperate pleas for him to do--something. You weren't sure what. You arched your back and reached down and his hands were in your hands, holding your hands, his thumbs moving in soft circles in your palms.

It was the closest you'd ever came in your life to crying during sex, but that wasn't the right word, either. Maybe the term your half-addled brain was searching for was simply 'letting go'. It felt a bit like crying, only not, but there were definitely sobbing sounds, although sadness, sorrow, was an abstract concept that could not even currently reach you.

Wicki kissed your clit and his lips carefully moved over and around it and there was this savage shaking through your whole body. There he was again, beside you this time, bringing you back with hands planted firmly, supporting your neck and hip, and he was kissing  _you_  now, your lips. You felt your thighs were still shaking, involuntarily, and you wanted to say something, to tell him he'd definitely won the title of world's quickest, hardest orgasm, but noticed that your cheeks were wet.

Again, confusion, but you couldn't quite pull yourself around, this time, so he did.

"Alles ist gut, Hasi."

"I'm fine," you managed at last. "I swear, I'm. . ."

Fffuck. Wicki kissed you hard, now, and, maybe he didn't realise or remember his own strength, but you were suddenly beneath him. He had you held so firmly against the bed--but you pushed his shoulders, shoving him back, and he sat up on his knees. He was panting hard, hands pulling at his hair, and he nodded, pulling away from you and away from you, painfully.

"Ja, ja." He was halfway across the room, now. "It's not right, it's not."

"I'm going," you said, moving on wobbly knees to pull clothes from your bag. "I'm just going to go, Will, I'm gonna go, uh, I'll see if I can't find Hugo. Just--take a shower. Get ready to help me out, I need Utivich in here in an hour and Aldo needs to know this is happening today--I want this all to be fucking OVER. Then I want you and Hugo in here."

"Ja, Hasi." Wicki was already skidding into the bathroom.

With unsteady hands, you laced up your boots and left the room for the first time in a day.


	7. Round Three: Smithson Utivich vs Aldo Raine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smithson Utivich
> 
> tw: slurs, discriminatory language

 

Hugo gave you a strange look when he opened the door to his room, but pulled the cigarette from between his lips and gestured you inside, anyway.

“I know, I know, I probably smell like pussy and Wicki,” you said, seating yourself on the bed he had not slept in the night before. He came and crouched in front of you, still saying nothing, unspoken questions in his eyes. Without thinking, you touched his head, but he leaned into it, rather than dart away. “I did what you wanted me to do and I want you to tell me right now if there is ever a chance in this world that I could ever be with you. If you say some sort of self-denying bullshit, I swear I will slap you  _so_  hard.”

And so he said nothing.

“You  _hurt_  me,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “For a fucking stupid reason. Well, now I’m showing you that I’m always going to choose you. You said I chose him, but it was just all stupid bullshit, too. This is the real shit, me in front of you, me telling you that I want you, and you don’t get to fucking decide that I  _don’t_.”

His face was split between melancholy and impassivity. “How did I hurt you?”

“When I told you the competition was off because I just want to be with you, and you said no. It hurt me very much, and it’s stupid and pointless if you want to be with me, too. I know what your body looks like and I still want to fuck every inch of you. I don’t know what the fuck happened to you, but I wish I could walk through time, pace by pace, and rip all of those people away from you. I want to take care of you, too. You  _demand_  to be allowed to take care of me, so you know what, fucker? I  _demand_  to be allowed to take care of  _you_.”

Hugo scoffed, but it was bullshit, you could see it. You could see him pale at the very thought of being wanted by somebody. “What would you do?”

You shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, but I want to try to figure it out.”

“I don’t think you can help me,” he said slowly.

Just as you promised, and just as you knew you’d regret and did, you slapped him hard enough to knock him off-kilter. Looking down at him, you felt like shit, like the same sort of people that had done  _whatever_  made this man the way he was. It didn’t seem to affect him at all, though. He just kept on looking at you.

“Come here,” you said after a few non-violent moments had passed, and, obedient as ever, he came to sit beside you. “I’m sorry.” You pressed your lips to his temple and let your arms crawl around him, made of stone. “I swear, no matter what you do, I’ll never hit you again.”

“I was never going to hit you back.”

“I know,” you whispered in his hair. “But I promise, I’m not going to hit you, even though I know you would keep letting me.”

“I’m fine.” It was the first time that had ever sounded sincere, coming from him.

“I feel bad, and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

“You warned me.”

“I shouldn’t have warned you about anything. I don’t have a right to put my hands on you like that, nobody does. Do you think you have a right to hit me?”

“No! Of course I don’t!”

“Good, then think of it that way. You’re not different than me, you don’t deserve less than I do or to be thought of in any capacity that’s lesser. That ‘you hit me, but I’d never hit you’ bullshit is exactly what I’m talking about and exactly what’ll never happen again.” You kissed lightly against his skin once more and didn’t let go when he shifted uncertainly.

“What about Wilhelm?” he asked quietly.

You paused. “What about him?”

“Why don’t you want him? He would be very good to you.”

“He’s not you. Why don’t you want me?”

Hugo laughed, sharp and strangled, and started shaking his head rapidly. “I want you. I want you. Of course I want you. I want you just where you are, here by me, always. I did not mean to hurt you and make you think differently, but don’t you see that hurting you is the only thing I’m capable of doing? I didn’t even mean to, but I hurt you badly.”

You could hear muffled voices and neighbours upstairs moving around. You had to wonder if this quiet and darkness was all that Hugo had ever surrounded himself with. What was his life like, before the Wehrmacht, before the war? Who had he been, what had he done? Who had he met with, excitement stealing his heart away for some amount of precious moments? Had he ever?

“Hugo, there’s a rather sizable difference between hurting someone accidentally and putting the screws to them. People make mistakes, there are misunderstandings, there’s nothing in the world you can do to prevent yourself from ever hurting my feelings. You can do your best to avoid it and never do it intentionally, and that’s more than enough. That’s what I’ll do for you, too.” You closed your eyes, feeling so tired all of a sudden, and made a point to rest up against him. “I want to sleep with you for a little while longer, and then I’m going to get this whole pussy-eating contest over with, and then, Hugo, I  _need_  you.”

He nodded, setting out methodically to increase your comfort and arrange you neatly among the blankets and pillows. It felt good, actually. You yawned and smiled again, and Hugo lay on his side along the length of your body, keeping you firmly in place and offering up his body heat and whatever else he could. You noticed the concentration in his eyes, but only kissed the cleft in his chin, then his lips, and let yourself be pulled into slumber.

* * *

There was a note from Wicki on the bathroom counter beside your toothbrush and the most awkward, hilarious lipstick kiss you’d ever seen. You laughed instantly to see it and the smudges all around it, and how he wrote underneath that he was having a hard time getting the lipstick to come  _off_.

You started a steamy shower, twisting the taps, but took the time to read the note once more.

_HASI–_

_I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I just got a little carried away. I’m glad you stopped me from doing something we both would have regretted. I don’t know about seeing you later, like you said. This is more difficult than I thought that it would be. You’re far lovelier than I knew before, and, knowing now, I think maybe it’ll be easiest to step to the side and let the two of you engage in–I almost wrote something really gross, attempting to be funny. I’m grateful that you spoke with me so honestly about Hugo and what you feel, because I know it’s not easy to do, and I know, so much, what a complete fucking pain in the ass he is to deal with. I’m selfishly glad that it happened and realistic that it can’t and won’t ever happen again, there’s just something stuck in between that probably doesn’t need to be picked at. It’ll go away. You’ll never know how grateful I am to have a friend like you, Pip._

_–WILHELM_

You barely had time to get your hair wet before the frantic knocking came to the door, and you slammed your fists against the tiled wall and went to let Utivich inside.

The kid was gasping like a fish out of water, a high note coming with each intake of breath, and something was  _wrong_. You closed the door and set both the locks immediately before turning back to the widest and most terrified blue eyes you’d ever seen.

“Did your cover get blown?” you whispered, already reaching for the telephone to dial Aldo and have him start the extraction process.

“No, no!” Smithson ran around to stand in front of the phone, blocking you from it. “No, no. Uh…no.”

“What is the matter?” You looked at him with deep concern setting around your eyes and reached up to brush his damp hair away from his forehead. “Smitty?”

“I need your help,” he panted, staring at the doors.

“What the  _fuck_  is going on?” Now you shook his arm gently. “Smitty, do I need to slap you?”

“I just saw Stiglitz out in the hallway,” he said, the whole of his voice shaking. “He told me if I did anything wrong that he’d peel my skin off and make me eat it.”

You laughed uncomfortably and looked around the room for something to throw at the German, who was almost certainly still there. “He’s like a bouncer for my genitalia. I’m really sorry he messed with you, he’s just very serious about this whole contest thing. He shouldn’t have done that, I’ll talk to him later.”

Smithson gulped, hanging onto a piece of furniture like his own legs couldn’t support him. You saw sweat around his collar and realised for the first time that he’d been anxious before he ever set foot in your hotel. “I need your help,  _please_ , Y/N.”

“Okay,” you whispered, trying to comfort him with your body language and the offer of a cigarette. “Everything is going to be fine, Smitty, I promise. Tell me what you need.”

“I’m not going to be able to do anything right!” His trembling hands reached for his hair, now. “I’ve been trying to prepare myself for this, but I just don’t think that I am, I don’t think I can!”

“Honestly, that just makes my afternoon a lot shorter.” You pulled his hands away from his scalp and guided him to sit with you on the bed. “No one is going to force your face between my legs, Smitty. It’s okay.”

“You’re so nice,” he wheezed, and little traces of tears pooled along his eyelashes. “I’m…I’m very,  _very_  gay, Y/N.”

Automatically, your heart broke for the poor kid beside you and you hauled him up in your arms like the protective mama hen that you always had been. You stroked his back, felt the perspiration there, too, and kissed his cheek. “It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with you, Smitty. You are God’s wonderful creature, and mine, too.”

“I didn’t think you’d understand.” He sniffled and gripped you painfully tight, but you said nothing, just kept stroking his back. “I thought, I thought…I’ve been so worried. I know nobody thinks very much of me, and I probably don’t behave much like a man–”

“Hey!” You drew your head back to look at him and shook your head, eyes firm. “Nuh-uh, don’t talk about yourself like that. Gay or not, a man is a man, and you are a man. Unless you aren’t. That’s fine, too. If you’re a beautiful woman in a beautiful man’s body and just not a lesbian–sweetie, all of that is  _fine_. You are  _not_  obligated to have anything to do with my vagina. I am  _so sorry_  that this has been eating at you–no pun intended, sorry–and I’m really sorry that Hugo terrorised you. He was completely out of line and I will make  _sure_  that he knows it.”

“But you can’t tell him, you can’t!” Smitty gasped. “Y/N, they’ll take me out of the Army. The Army is the only thing I’ve ever really done with myself, and I managed to get into the Special Forces, and they’ll kick me out if anyone reports me!”

“Look at me.” You widened your eyes, tilted your head, and placed each hand on the sides of his face. He still looked so scared, so fearful of what came next. “I am your friend first, always. That is something that’ll never, ever be betrayed. Here’s what we’ll do. You’re going to go take a shower, since I left it running, and I’m going to go down the hall and tell Hugo to fuck off. I’ll come back, put some loud music on, and I’ll order up some drinks, and we’ll get you relaxed before you leave this room. You’re the winner, understand? You’re the King of the Basterds.”

“You’d do that for me?” His voice was barely even there, and his eyes spilled over and he sniffled and wiped at them like he could scrub the gay away. “You’d do that for some Jew fag from Manhattan?”

This time, you did smack him, and, as he touched the angry mark on his cheek, you pointed between his eyes. “If I ever hear you say that word again, or say any other shit like that about yourself, I will kick your ass myself, are we clear?”

Smitty nodded, his head bobbing continuously until you held his chin still. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

You wiped your own tearful eyes and kissed his cheek softly. “And if anybody ever,  _ever_  calls you that, I will make them suffer in a Biblical way. Your secret is safe with me as long as you want it to be a secret. I don’t care. You are my friend, and I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’m so glad. I’m so grateful. Really.” Smithson squeezed you even harder, and you could feel his shoulders shaking still. “I thought you’d be offended and angry and tell someone…Not because I think you’re a bad person, I just…”

“It’s okay. It’s really okay. Go take the shower, relax. Let it all wash off, and when you come out, we’ll have some drinks and play cards or something, sounds good?” When he nodded, you made sure that your bathrobe (fuck this thing, seriously) was securely tied and covered you completely before unlocking the doors and slipping out.

You approached Hugo with menacing, but when you saw him, saw the goofy grin on his face and the way his shoulders were jostling with quiet laughter, it left you.

“What’s so goddamn funny?”

He turned to you and giggled. “I just saw Wilhelm, and his lips were had all this pink stuff on them. It just looked silly. I’m sorry. You want me to leave?”

You crossed your arms and leaned closer. “Yes, I want you to go, and, not that I think you’d pull this shit with Aldo, you don’t ever do anything like that again. Smitty is a good guy, you  _knew_  he wasn’t going to cut my head off and fuck my neck. There was no call for the way you behaved. You really shook him up.”

Hugo’s lips formed a small circle and he tilted his head up towards the ceiling. His own arms crossed, and he began to nod. “Oh, I understand. He’s a homosexual.”

Screaming inside, you covered his mouth quickly. “No he isn’t–how did you know, just based on what I said?”

Hugo winked at you. “I know a lot about all of these people. What I know about Hirschberg would blow your mind. I’ll tell you later. Anyway, I suspected as much. Tell him that I apologise, it wasn’t personal.”

“He is to  _never_  find out that you have any clue,” you warned. “I’m  _serious_.”

“I understand that. I’m sorry, Schatzi.” He kissed the top of your head. “No one will ever now. And if they do, I’ll make sure that they forget.”

“Excellent, use your powers for good, not evil.” You kissed him, but gave him a gentle shove. “I’m still pissed, though, so I’m going to go fix your fuck-up and you can go tell Wicki that mineral oil will get the lipstick off.”

He giggled again, a  _beautiful_ , if odd, sound and sight, and left without any complaint, looking quite pleased with himself and your discussion.

Smitty came out wearing one of the other robes stocked in the bathroom and toweling his hair. He looked better, if still like shit. You sifted through the rather awful collection of records before placing something that looked half decent on the phonograph and turning the music up louder.

“He’s not going to be any further issue,” you promised, sitting on the severely under-utilised love seat. “You wanna talk?”

He pointed at the bathroom. “I read that note. Weird stuff going on between the three of you, isn’t there?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Grab those cigarettes. And define weird.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he was quick to say. He found the silver lighter on the table, too, and brought it. “I heard you spent the night with Stiglitz. Wicki mentioned him in his note. He threatened to skin me alive not twenty minutes ago. Is he…?”

“I know he was just a major dick to you, and I’m sorry, again.” You inhaled deeply, lighting the first of your chain of smokes. “I just discovered that there’s nothing like him in the world. I adore the air he breathes and the ground he walks on.”

Smitty blinked, a little bewitched. “Uh,  _that_  good?”

“Yeah, I probably would have crowned him king, were it not for you. But it’s more than that. Really. I feel it in my gut. It’s odd, his insistence on this whole fucking contest, which I didn’t even want to continue, really, but he is how he is, and he actually means  _so_  well. I’m not trying to justify his being an asshole, it’s just…Today, we’re going to figure some stuff out.” You crossed your legs and leaned towards the opposite arm of the sofa. “Any men in your life? Sorry, you don’t have to talk about that.”

“I think I’m in love with Aldo,” Smitty blurted. “Maybe he can join your new team of boyfriends and I can live vicariously through your experiences climbing the Smoky Mountains? Figuratively.”

You cackled, honestly cackled, and felt much lighter than you had the entire day. “Oh shit,” you remembered, taking another drag. “Aldo’s next.”


	8. Round Three: Smithson Utivich vs Aldo Raine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aldo Raine

This time, you really did get the chance to take a nice, long shower with the adorable little rose-scented soaps the hotel provided. You sighed, knowing damn well that in a few days you’d be burning ticks off of Andy again, trudging through thick layers of fallen leaves, and keeping watch while your team scalped their victims. Maybe another day would come, though, maybe you could survive this war, go back to the US, and keep your bathroom stocked with rose-scented soaps. Ordinarily, you kept thoughts about post-war life locked down, but shit, shouldn’t you be allowed to dream  _sometimes_?

You smiled at your own reflection and felt you appreciated your own appearance a bit better than before. It was barely more than a full day since this whole shebang had started, and you’d had four orgasms, gained the trust of a sweet, shy gay man, fallen pretty much hopelessly in love, and now…Now it was time to let your CO do possibly illegal things to your person.

Not that that wasn’t exciting.

All of the preceding events, however, had taken their toll, so you once again found yourself in the arms of sleep, sweet, wonderful sleep, another luxury that would soon be far gone from your reach. You hadn’t meant to, but you crawled into bed to rest a bit in the late afternoon and woke up as the sun was climbing high in the sky.

“Shit,” you muttered, your feet pattering on the floor. You held the receiver to your ear and dialed the number Aldo had given you.

“What did Uti  _do to you_?”

You chuckled. “I’ve been so tired, I just fell asleep after a shower. I’m sorry. I’m also starving.”

“Oh, come on, then. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“D-downstairs?”

“Yeah, that place where the stairs end. You walk on ‘em. When’s the last time you got dressed? Let’s go eat. It’s an order.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” It was a pleasant surprise, though. Hugo was the only other one that had thought to make sure you were eating, and Aldo was a fun guy to be around, when he wasn’t yelling at everybody during orienteering. Once, he made Hirschberg have a full-on, bat shit meltdown.

You had the one pink dress with you, not that it mattered how you looked. Aldo was there, just as he said he’d be, and he lifted you from the ground when you came up to him and kissed you with  _fervor_. He was practically turned around already by the time your feet touched the wooden floor again.

“Come on, honey.”

After two hours gone and four times laughing so hard your waiter stopped to check on you, you had nearly forgotten the purpose behind this little dinner date. Aldo looked at his watch, though, and said the both of you had better head out. It wasn’t like you expected. You felt no crushing waves of anxiety when reminded of the pussy-eating contest. You took Aldo’s arm and he was just as funny as he had been before as you walked back to the hotel, and you realised how thankful you were for that, that he was always able to put you at ease. It wasn’t coincidental–there were no coincidences, when it came to Aldo Raine.

“So,” he began as you walked up the stairs together, the joists groaning. “Little Miss Muffet showed you a good time? Donny and Omar been at each other’s throats. I ain’t heard much from Stiglitz, that’s 'cause he’s been with you, or spying on you, whichever. Wicki got up and left town earlier.”

“What?” Your eyes widened and you stopped at the step you were on.

“He’s back already. I saw him when we were out just now, tall fucker. Drifting around looking like the Eiffel fuckin’ tower.” Aldo pulled you along gently and reached in your bag for your keys. He opened the doors and looked around before stepping inside. “I hear you’re stuck between having little Jack the Ripper babies with Stiglitz and little Yeti babies with Wicki?”

You scoffed and slipped out of your shoes. “Stop, stop, I’ll have a big, gushy orgasm if you keep on like that.”

Aldo smiled and put his hands on your waist. “I’m not good at dancing, but that’s what we’ll do. Come on.”

“We  _have_  music,” you looked over at the phonograph, but he was already moving with you.

“Little piece of advice,” Aldo said. “When you can, dance without the music. You’ll figure out a lot of things about each other.”

“What about me do you not already know?” You laughed, eyes squinting shut, when he dipped you over his arm. “You knew everything about me before I even knew your name.”

“I got to hand-pick my team, 'course I knew the basics. That ain’t really who you are, though.” He breathed in a quiet gasp when you kissed him, his fingers tightening just so on your form. “And here I was, thinking that wasn’t gonna happen for…oh, another half hour, or so.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry to disappoint.”

Aldo chuckled now and twisted you. “Honey, there ain’t nothing disappointing about you. Not as my nurse, not as the lady I’m dancing with. Know why I picked you?”

You scrunched your nose in thought. “I went to a good school, I did well in basic, I declined OCS so that I could work in the field as a medic, I looked cute in my uniform…”

He chuckled, shook his head. His hand sank down to your lower back. “Nah. I mean, yeah, but I had me about a dozen of those. It didn’t come down to who graduated where, it was all good, far as I understand. They wouldn’t have thrown you in the files if you weren’t competent. Nah, it was your picture.” He nodded towards your head. “Those eyes of yours. I knew you’d take care of my boys. All them other ones, they just looked frosty and dead-eyed, but yours had that something in French I can’t say.”

“Joie de vivre?”

“Shut up. That’s the one.” He slowed the pace of your dancing so that you were hardly moving at all. Liar said he wasn’t good at dancing. Aldo brushed his cheek against yours. “I’m goddamn proud of you, y'know. And I’m happy to be where I’m at. If you change your mind, all’s you gotta do is say. I want you to, if that’s the case.”

“I haven’t, Lieutenant. Aldo. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“S'what I like to hear.” He spun you again, taking a few laughs when you fell against his chest, and it went on that way for a while. You talked about England, about all meeting each other for the first time. Aldo picked you up and set you on the dresser, kissed you until there was not a single breath left in your lungs, and drew you back into his arms for another dance.

Eventually, he did pick a record, a much better one than you realised was in the hotel’s collection, and his hands grew more adventurous. Twice more you found yourself on top of that dresser, your own hands growing hungrier and hungrier to get down to his skin, but he always stopped, acting as though nothing had happened at all.

No one could ever say that son of a bitch wasn’t tenacious.

Your upper thighs were starting to feel slippery, and you were just about to yank your superior officer towards the bed when he held you still in the middle of the dance floor that was your room. He stood behind you, his hands rising to the tops of your shoulders and moving slowly down your arms until he reached your hands in front of you.

“It finally got dark,” he grumbled into your ear, and you felt it everywhere, even tingling at your lower back. You gasped sharply and shifted when you felt his lips and all his stubble moving against your neck. “You know…” He had his hands firmly on your ass, squeezing. “I kinda figured this would be your thing.”

Extremely grateful that he was behind you, you blushed deeply and tried to keep breathing. “Hell, it might be, who knows?”

He chuckled darkly. “You can find out.”

You elbowed him sharply and he grunted, but squeezed your ass even tighter before letting go to reach your thighs. “Aldo, for God’s sake, you’ve been working me up for like an hour.”

“Yeah, well, when you get a touch older, you can do shit like that. How much time have you spent on the balcony?” He was already pushing you towards the glass doors.

“Well, none,” you admitted, although you soon found it actually had a lovely little sitting area that would have been quite nice to eat breakfast there. You smiled at the thought of having croissants and grapes with Hugo in the morning, then remembered the fact of Hugo Stiglitz’s existence. “Wait, how much time have  _you_  spent on my balcony?” You peered up, then shook your head. “How the  _fuck_  did that man–”

“He can get in basically everywhere,” Aldo supplied. He sat on a piece of furniture you didn’t quite know the name for, but, though there was room for two, he pulled you into his lap. “You’ll be good for 'im. Even him out some. I hope.”

“Maybe not talk about him with that gigantic erection?”

And with that, a hand criss-crossed with grizzly scars descended between your open thighs, and said erection was grinding against you while Aldo went right back to your neck. You cursed delightedly and moved right along with him. Maybe technically a bit against the rules, but the man wasn’t going to shove you down on the table and bang you senseless. He started to breathe rough and heavily, still working his fingers between your legs, and you thought he was going so say something.

Instead, he sat you down carefully on the settee(?) and kicked back on his knees. “Hey, look up.”

With a half-laugh, you looked up at the cloudless sky at a million points of light. “Okay. Stars and moon.  _Oh_! Aldo!”

“Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna see,” he muttered, shifting you just the way he needed. His hands folded up the fabric of your dress, pulled your thighs apart, pulled you closer to him. “I figured this was one of your things, too.”

“What? Why?”

“Girls with round asses like to fuck outside. Them’s the rules. I don’t make 'em.” He bit your inner thigh and groaned. “'Cept when I do.”

There was a loud pop and the bang of an explosion somewhere close and you jumped, but a stream of pink and white lights streamed up through the sky and blossomed like wildflowers. You laughed hard this time, smacking Aldo on the back of the head. “You fucking didn’t!”

You heard his little shit-eating grin and the snicker. “Oh yes, I fuckin’ did. Shut up.”

Amazing. Purely and simply amazing, but could you really have expected any less from this tease working his fingers inside you again? Aldo always had a plan, always, for every occasion. You could guess that he hadn’t had a fireworks display put up just for you, remembered it was July, the warm air cloaking you like a blanket. In France, they celebrated their own independence in July.

You tried to only moan when there was noise to cover it up, but, after the second twirl of his fingers, completely ran out of fucks to give. Unlike your more recent contestants, Aldo was not going for subtlety, instead opting to make it last just long enough for the fireworks to start to die down.

Goddamn, but he was enthusiastic. Every time your legs tightened on reflex, he pushed them apart again so they were splayed wide open for him and for the stars. Every time you got a little louder, you could feel him smile again, feel the vibrations of his laughter against your skin, the utter bastard.

The man ate pussy like he was going to war with it, sizing it up in battle and going full assault for defeat. The war between your legs was over in ten minutes, and it  _was_  a little sweeter, being sort of outdoors, your body soft and open, screaming where anyone could hear, if not for the bursts of colour in the sky.

When he was absolutely  _sure_  he had gotten every last bit out of you, Aldo took a deep breath and slapped you on the thighs. “Wanna fuck?”

“So badly, it hurts, but, unfortunately, not for you.”

“Thought so. I gotta run. You got until noon tomorrow to announce a winner!” And he was  _literally_  running, booked it, gone before you could even force yourself to stand.

Force yourself to stand, however, you did. You went at that telephone like the damn thing had cussed your mama and dialed the number to Hugo’s room.

“Hello?” Oh, he sounded fucking polite, the ass.

“Listen to me carefully,” you groaned, shifting your hips. “I have had my pussy eaten by five men in not a very long period of time, and absolutely no actual fucking. I’m  _going_  to have sex in the next ten minutes, if I have to get some poor sap out of the hotel bar–I don’t even give a fuck anymore–Are you  _there_?”

You heard him take a deep, steadying breath. “On the bed, naked, legs apart. I’ll be there in two, and fuck you like the good girl you are.”


	9. Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long, long awaited (seriously, sorry you had to wait so long) conclusion. I’m looking to do something similar in Fury 2014. I haven’t made up my mind yet. This series has its own spin-off, which will be detailed at the end of this concluding chapter.

You awoke on day three feeling more than grateful for the pleasant ache between your legs, the light snore in your ear, the freckles, warm arms that crossed their way around you. You tried your very best to capture every sensation and sight of this moment in your mind, like a photograph. Twenty-four hours from now, you’d have forty pounds of gear on your back. Omar and Donny would find some other foolish thing to bicker about. Hirschberg, Sakowitz, and Kagan were all going to bitch about having missed out. There would be no fuzzy bathrobes, no soft beds, no clean sheets.

But there  _would_  be Hugo, and, with any luck, Wicki, too. There would be a note with a pink lipstick kiss in your pack, nestled carefully with all the slips of paper you’d found shoved up underneath your door, notes in different handwriting making a case for why they should be crowned King of the Basterds. Undoubtedly, there would be another routine lice check where Omar and Donny would ask for something completely out of line, and Hugo would throw them into a river.

The knocks on the door began while Hugo was taking a shower and you were finishing a bit of pain au chocolat. You knew that knock. “Donny, go away!”

“Y/N, do you know what time it is?” Donny called through the barrier of the doors, pitched with disbelief and his unique brand of derision.

“Two damn hours too early, no go away.”

Surprisingly, Hirschberg was the next culprit. “Is it too late to throw my hat in?”

“Far, far too late. It’s not too late to bring me wine and croissants!”

“Go the fuck away!” Hugo shouted, and the sound of running footsteps trailed down the hall until they couldn’t hear anymore.

You grinned over at Hugo, applying paste to construction paper. “You’re being a really good sport about all of this.”

He shook his head. You’d been so wrapped up in crafts for the Coronation Ceremony that glitter had gotten everywhere, and a cloud of it settled to the carpet below. “I’m the one that got to fuck you. The contest is over, and you are mine.”

“Hm. You say that with a lot of conviction for someone who literally pushed other men’s faces into my pussy, not twenty-four hours ago…”

“Those were the agreed upon terms! Omar made Donny sign his name in blood!” Hugo made a face and started shaking his hair out fervently. “Goddamn it, woman, you managed to keep me lice-free, but you’ve infected me with insufferable craft products!”

You lifted a pinch blue glitter and threw it into the air, letting it fall like sparkly rain. You laughed, but he did not. “Aw, come on.” You kissed his frown. “It’s worth it.”

“You are  _assaulting_  me!” He twisted away, peering down at your work. “How do you know that will even fit him? And why does he get paper and you get a tiara?”

You gaped at him. “Because I’m the motherfucking queen! I put up with all of you, I babysit you morons! ‘Oh, is this a deer tick?’ 'How come I can’t drink that water?’ 'Why is my eyeball pink?’”

Hugo shook his head, more glitter tumbling down. “You’ve done something much worse to me.”

More knocking at the door.

“Y/N?”

You groaned and put down the paste. “Fuck  _off_ , dog-tits!”

In your red velvet robe and tiara, carrying your scepter, throwing a handful of glitter with the other hand, you entered the tavern where it had all started. There lots of smiles, smiles you loved, bless their little stupid fucking hearts, lots of lips that had just recently been on the most intimate part of your person, gathered around that very same table. You had the odd feeling like a much more significant portion of time had passed, and, somehow, like the things you all had done was no more profound than tossing condoms filled with water over the side of a building. It was just a thing. Just a Basterd thing.

Donny started the chant of your name with a glint in his dark eyes and the even darker beer in his glass sloshing as it tapped rhythmically against the table. Aldo rolled his eyes, looked down, and laughed. Wicki was standing, leaned up against a beam, tall, dark, and bashful.

In the moment before you sat down, you damn near had tears in your eyes. This was the best, and they were the best, and they all shone like stars in your heart.

Then you  _were_  seated, and you were flocked, like seagulls to a picnic at the beach, and you were slapping hands away and swearing, just as usual. Dumbasses.

“Come on, come on!” Donny shouted through cupped hands.

“We’ve waited long enough,” Aldo said with all the air of authority as if he were ordering a strike. “Let’s hear it. Lay it on me. On my head. The crown.”

“Okay, okay.” You spoke over the voices and they hushed, and this would probably be the last time you ever would be able to make them  _shut the hell up_. You cleared your throat and Hugo passed you a sealed envelope, which you opened, and began to read its contents to the group.

“The Great Pussy-Eating Contest of 1943 has officially come to its conclusion–no pun intended–and before any questions are posed, the queen speaks: There will be no pussy-eating contests in any subsequent years, and no, there will be no space made for other competitors, Hirschberg, Sakowitz, Andy, learn how to be at the right place at at right time.

"We started off this journey as uncomfortable as all hell, but I think we have ended on a much better note. Let the queen also speaketh: There will be no awkward pauses or any such bullshit, we all got a job to do.

"As you are all aware, Hugo Stiglitz was a competitor, but as we have subsequently started to  _fuck on every surface of our rooms_ , no really, applaud this man, Hugo has graciously agreed to step down, as I am too partial to his mouth and dick to make a fair ruling. I would like to thank every single one of you, and, to level the playing field a bit so that there’s no confusion, each and every one of you made me come. Some of you on top of your faces, some of you before a spectacular fireworks show–honestly, I’ve been surprised at not only the sheer ability, but the creativity. Your queen, and, indeed,  _every_  woman who has the pleasure of making friends with your tongues will forever be grateful.

"There will be no ranking, there will be no fourth, third, or second place slots. There is only one King of the Basterds.” Hugo handed you the paper crown you’d spent entirely too much time constructing. “Gentleman, please turn to your left and right and shake the hands of your competitors. Do it. Now. Or  _no_ _one_   _wins_.”

That lit a fire under their asses.

You stood again, looking out at all their dumbass faces, and placed the crown carefully on Smitty’s head, then kissed him deeply.

“All hail your King, Smithson Whitman Utivich.”

This time, the uproar  _did_  get the lot of your thrown out of the tavern, and you spilled out into the night, under the light of the moon, the cobblestones echoing your footsteps.

“Bull–fucking–shit,” Aldo hollered, half-drunk and hollow-eyed. “That is  _bullshit_!”

“What did you  _do_  to her?” Donny asked, propping his arm on Smitty’s shoulder. “I gave that pussy my damndest–did you hear what  _Wicki_  did?”

The second place, the one where the others had been the night the contest came into play, was much more amenable to loud noises, whores, drunk Basterds, and Donny making out with a barmaid in the corner. You winked at him and smiled, laughed when he surreptitiously gave you a thumbs up behind the girl’s back. She’d be having a good night.

Before the night drew to a close, you felt a hand on your shoulder, and, as Hugo was playing a cryptic knife game with Andy, there was only one person it could be.

He’d been quiet, kept his distance. You felt his hand shake, just a bit, before it grew more firm. You leaned back against him comfortably.

“Hasi.”

You smiled. “Wicki.”

“Will is preferable, considering.”

Your smile grew and you turned to look at him, one hand on his chest. “Ready to go?”

He looked at you, then to Hugo. “He looks like he’s having fun…you’re both…sure?”

You nodded, pushing just a little more so that he’d start walking. “Mhm. At around one in the morning, he’s going to join us in my room after we have  _mindblowing_  sex aaaand then we’ll talk about it.”

Wicki bit his lip, but nodded, a smile already on his face. He put one hand on your lower back, and, as you exited, it slipped further down, settling on your ass. “I’m okay with it. I am.”

Walking in the dark shadows of buildings, you kissed him, and things…progressed. By the time you opened your room, he’d already slipped his hand underneath your bra, his fingertips warm and electric.

“I am  _completely_  okay with it, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a spin-off! A spin-off series, yaaay! It will follow a polyamorous relationship between reader (who may be transformed into an OC, for sake of my convenience), Hugo, and Wicki. If you’re interested, great! Be looking for the first installment soon, because ya girl got her mojo back. If you’re not looking forward to it, oh well! There are many, many works and updates to come for other things for your enjoyment!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find this and a lot more at my tumblr, warmommy.tumblr.com!


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